Steps
by LuticolousMantis
Summary: The relationship of Montgomery Burns and Waylon Smithers, step by step through the years.


"Smithers, is that a _baby_?"

The man who had been addressed stopped, turning to face his boss with a guilty look on his face.

"Yes, Mr. Burns. You remember, Junior?"

Said owner of the new Springfield nuclear power plant nodded, his long nose twitching in disgust:

"I know who that thing is. What I want to know is why you've brought it with you to work. A nuclear power plant is hardly a suitable place for a baby, with all their excretions and noise and unrequested odors."

"Yes, Mr. Burns, and I know it's inappropriate, but it's just this once. Carolyn's mother hasn't been feeling well lately, and she had to go take care of her, and I couldn't find anyone to look after Junior in such a short notice..."

Mr Burns waved his hand dismissively, stopping his assistant before he'd have to learn anything more about the man's home life.

"Fine, fine. Just make sure it won't drool on any control panels or cause any other problems. And don't make a habit of this."

"Thank you Sir"

"Yes, don't you have any work to do?"

Smithers Sr. turned to go, but stopped. He held out his son:

"Would you like to hold him?"

"No"

* * *

><p>"Your father, no, he didn't leave. He died doing his job. On a freelance-assignment that had absolutely nothing to do with the nuclear power plant. That all happened in... South America, which would be why you won't find any records of the thing, so don't even bother. And that's why there was no body either. But he is definitely dead. Torn to pieces by one of those Amazon tribes"<p>

Looking at the small bespectacled face, Burns hurried to add:

"But very heroically. He sacrificed himself to save the city"

"From the Amazons?"

"Yes, and their squad of battle elephants they had marched over the Alps..."

"Aren't the Alps in Europe? I thought you said this happened in South America? And wasn't it Hannibal that-"

That surprised Mr. Burns. The kid wasn't as ignorant and stupid he had assumed. How old was he, exactly? Not a baby anymore, but not yet at school, three, maybe? Or had it already passed more years than that since the accident that had claimed the life of Smithers?

"Who is telling this story? Were you there?"

"Sorry Sir"

"It... doesn't matter. What's important is that your father died a hero. You hear that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now never bring this up again".

* * *

><p>"Junior, would you like to, once you're older, of course, work for me?"<p>

"You think I could?"

"Sure, little nepotism never hurt anyone. I would have you start right now, but, and you might find this difficult to believe, this government has some quite outlandish ideas about child labor."

"Such as?"

"Like that children shouldn't have the right to work in a nuclear plant! Can you believe it? Such a shame, they're like made for crawling in small spaces and unclogging machinery with their tiny hands. Really, now, this is not like it used to be, I tell you. What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, Sir"

* * *

><p>"Smithers?"<p>

For a moment there it had felt like a ghost of the past had walked in his office. The young man certainly resembled his father. Burns had made an effort to distance himself from the Smithers family, since the last thing he wanted was some snot-nosed kid leeching off of him on the pretense that he was a family friend or a godfather of some sort. So he hadn't seen Smithers Jr. since he was a child, although he knew Junior had moved out of Springfield with his mother. And that he had married. Mr. Burns had been invited to the wedding, an invitation he had refused.

He had been hoping the kid would have forgotten the suggestion he had made in a moment of weakness, but when he had gotten the letter from the kid, Burns had made inquiries and found Smithers Jr. had graduated at the top of his class from Stanford and while lacking experience, seemed like a promising young man indeed.

"Yes, Sir, you remember my father, maybe?"

Mr. Burns made a show of looking through his papers:

"Ah, yes. Mr. Waylon Smithers. Worked as my personal assistant, I believe. And what might you want, I wonder?"

He watched the young man blush, enjoying the apparent discomfort visible on his face.

"I-I thought-"

"You thought what? Time is money, boy, you'd better learn that. I'll give you ten seconds to speak. Starting now"

"I was just…"

He swallowed, and spoke in a hurried tone:

"I recently graduated and was thinking of moving back in Springfield and remembered the promise, or the suggestion you made when I was young. That you'd have a job for me, once I grew up. But I have quite a good CV for my age, so I think I could really be a valuable addition to your staff and I don't mind starting from the bottom either, I realize it's-"

"Enough"

Burns interrupted him.

"You already wasted more than 10 seconds"

Amused, he watched the kid stop and stare at his shoes.

Pretending to go through the papers again, making notes and checking something in the big binder he had on his desk, he drew on the silence.

Burns had already decided he'd give a job for the boy, but wanted to get the maximum amount of enjoyment out of this. The kid was smart, evidently, and his father had been a good employee, and Mr. Burns was a great believer in the importance of good breeding.

And he was young and inexperienced, most likely lacking in confidence, easily intimidated and manipulated.

"Perhaps I could hire you as my personal assistant."

A smile spread on Smithers Jr.'s face.

"Really? I mean, that is a generous offer"

Mr. Burns nodded in response. Maybe it was a too high position for the kid, but he was lacking an assistant at the moment. He had had trouble with them, anyway. Finding a good assistant was difficult, and he had no great hopes for this kid either.

He'd most likely be a disappointment and prove himself inadequate, or soon quit after finding the job too demanding.

But who knows, maybe he'd prove to be a surprise.

* * *

><p>Now that he had sold the power plant to the Germans, he had all the time in the world and the money to fulfill any of his long-time dreams or vagaries.<p>

And yet it all felt so empty and disappointing.

Monty Burns found himself missing the routine of work. The plant, his office, even all the mutton-headed ourang-outangs he had for workers. Or rather making them realize their inadequacy and that they could never reach his standards, whatever they did.

So when his assistant called him, the sound of this familiar voice was such a pleasant surprise.

* * *

><p>"Enough, Smithers, I am fully capable of walking unassisted"<p>

"But Sir, the robots might still reach us"

However, despite sounding reluctant, the younger man carefully set his boss down.

Burns stood, uneasy, hearing the robots pounding against the door. Despite his protests he had found himself feeling surprisingly secure on his arms as Smithers carried him and now found himself briefly wishing he would had hold onto him just a little bit longer.

What was wrong with the work ethics of today?

Workers forming unions, acting like they deserved rights, going on a strike!

Even mechanical automatons betrayed you.

Well, Smithers at least was one he could trust not to leave him. If only because he lacked the spine to do so.

* * *

><p>For a while now, he had been plagued by nightmares. A coldness enveloping him from all sides, leaving him to reach out for something.<p>

But what?

Something warm, something comforting-

He was shaken awake by someone, and for a moment when he was still partly dreaming he thought the figure standing next to his bed was the one he had been looking for.

He shook his head. It was just Smithers.

"Oh, it's you"

"Who's Bobo, Sir?"

Burns stumbled over his words, trying to hide the fact that he had realized what it was that had been bothering him lately.

Bobo.

That's what he had been missing.

* * *

><p>He felt such a rush of power, he was doing this by himself!<p>

How long it had been since he had driven a car? Even before Smithers, he had employed people who'd take care of such things for him. But of course since Smithers was so capable and almost always at his disposal, Burns hadn't had the need to keep a separate private chauffeur on his payroll for years.

How had he allowed himself become so dependent of the young man?

And how had he not seen how the boy had made himself irreplaceable? Mr. Burns realized Waylon was more clever he had given him credit for. Or, rather, he had never really considered the feelings and motives of the younger man. Because Smithers was always so compliant and happy to serve, Mr. Burns had not seen how he had little by little gained more and more power and influence over him.

When Burns thought of his life, whether it was work or free time, he automatically thought of Smithers as a part of it, he now realized.

It was almost as if he _needed _him, specifically _him_…

Well, when Smithers got back from his holiday, he was about to see no-one was irreplaceable.

...

And now he would need Smithers again, at least until his injuries healed.

Well, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. After all, there were a lot of things that needed to be done but were not fitting for a man of his position.

He would just need to make sure he didn't get too reliant of his help.

Yes, he would let Smithers keep his job.

His decision made, the old man felt at ease.

* * *

><p>Mr. Burns found himself at the edge of the celebrating crowd, drifting away.<p>

Last he had seen Larry he had climbed on the hood of the car singing about getting no respect, but now Mr. Burns could no longer spot his disowned son among the partying Springfielders.

Not that he really wanted to.

Maybe he just wasn't meant to have a family.

"Smithers, drive me home".

"Yes, Sir"

* * *

><p>"More tea, Sir?"<p>

Mr. Burns frowned at the smiling man, but nodded.

Really, such a harebrained idea, carrying food all the way here, (a public park, no less) just so you could eat it sitting uncomfortably on the ground while noisy people and animals, mostly ants, did their best to ruin it for you.

But as he sipped his tea, he had to admit he was glad he had tried this 'picnic' thing out. If only because the next time Smithers tried persuading him to take part of some foolish activity he could bring this up.

* * *

><p>For the first time he felt unsure around Smithers.<p>

They weren't a boss and an assistant anymore.

His fortune was gone, the plant no longer his, the mansion repossessed.

He had still been in shock when the younger man had asked him to stay with him and had agreed without much thought, but now that he was laying on the sofa waiting for sleep to come, the full weight of his situation was starting to sink in.

Charles Montgomery Burns, sleeping on his assistant's couch.

No, Smithers wasn't his employee anymore.

He was just… an acquaintance.

Mr. Burns felt faint, realizing for the first time that he had nothing.

* * *

><p>He had known for years Smithers was in love with him.<p>

It was hard to miss it, really. But he had always thought of it as a something a like what a dog would feel towards its master.

But for some time now he had had suspicions. There was something more to it, something slightly unsettling.

And then they thought the world was going to end and Smithers had kissed him.

A sign of his respect, he had called it afterwards, but Burns didn't buy it.

Although he had to admit he was slightly out of touch with the youth of today. Maybe that was just normal practice these days.

Or maybe he was starting to realize something he had been suspecting in the back of his mind for some time now.

Was it _that_ kind of a love? It would explain a few things.

And Monty Burns felt sick at the idea.

* * *

><p>"Stop fishing for compliments, Smithers."<p>

He took a bite of the dinner the younger man had prepared and added:

"I'm choking it down, isn't that thanks enough?"

The old man watched Smithers leave grumbling under his breath.

Mr. Burns rolled his eyes at this. Acting like he deserved better. Didn't Waylon realize just how lucky he was Burns was even allowing him and his disgusting unnatural thoughts near him?

Firing his assistant, for good this time, had come to his mind more than once lately.

And yet, to his surprise, when he and Simpson found themselves on the run from the government, there were two things he wanted to take with him: the trillion dollars, and Waylon Smithers. (In that order)

And when they were making their plans for settling down on some tropical island, the idea of putting all the unsettling discoveries behind them and starting anew was feeling very appealing indeed.

* * *

><p>"So much for finding true love on Flag Day"<p>

But had a part of him always known it would end this way? After all, didn't everyone always end up leaving him?

Well, almost anyone.

"If Smithers was a woman-"

Now where had that thought come from?

He mused on this.

_If _his assistant was of opposite sex, _if _there was a woman with such devotion...

He stopped that train of thought before it got any queerer.

And besides, had their relationship turned romantic, it would have just soon ended like all the other romances like that and he would have lost such a valuable assistant. So it was fortunate, really, that there was no chance of that kind of a thing.

* * *

><p>After several failed attempts at sticking his card in the little hole of this infernal automaton, Burns gave up:<p>

"Smithers, guide me in."

To his surprise, the young man decided to do so by taking hold of his hand and leaning dangerously close, almost touching, his breath hot against Burns' neck.

Burns tensed.

Without thinking, maybe instinctively wanting to take control of the situation, he leaned against Smithers, their bodies touching.

The younger man pulled back with a gasp, letting go of his hand.

Mr. Burns kept his back on him, making sure he didn't spot the slight smirk the old man allowed to play on his lips.

Having this effect on his assistant was certainly amusing. And offered a whole lot of new possible ways to manipulate him.

* * *

><p>He had never thought Smithers would die before him.<p>

But now that he found himself in this situation, he wasn't going to let this happen.

He wasn't about to lose something of his like this, because of a foolish mistake he had done by cancelling the medical plan for his employees.

And when he brought his lips on his, he couldn't help but to think back to that kiss on the fake judgment day, but pushed it from his mind, because this was definitely not the same thing.

* * *

><p>Something was wrong. Very wrong indeed.<p>

Mr. Burns hadn't heard from Smithers for some days now. And while he _technically _was on vacation, in practice he should have come by the mansion every day, or at least called.

What was the man doing?

Finally Montgomery Burns swallowed his pride and dialed his assistant's home number, only for no-one to answer.

What was going on?

Had he left on vacation without telling his boss?

Unlikely, but possible.

But very inconsiderate, doing something like this without telling him!

Smithers knew full well he'd expect him to join him. What if he had plans? In fact, why should he care? He could go to the moving pictures, or golfing. And when Smithers would call him he'd see just how much fun he was having without him. That would teach him.

Maybe he should check his summer mansion, just in case.

And when he did find Smithers tied up in a grandfather clock relief was certainly one of the feelings he was feeling.

Followed by rage at the Simpsons for breaking in his summer home and violating his possessions in such a manner.

* * *

><p>There was something that bothered him about this situation. Something felt a little off, no, like there was something he should have done, something that had been missing.<p>

It wasn't before nighttime when both retired to their respective bedrooms that it finally hit him.

Smithers had been sleeping in one of his smaller guest-bedrooms for several weeks now. But it wasn't that exactly that had been bothering him. No, it was the way that had happened. When the dome had separated Springfield from the rest of the world and the parts of the town where the younger man lived had become increasingly disarrayed and dangerous, it had only been natural he would move in.

And it was the fact that neither one of them had even thought that it _wasn't _an option that had felt out of place.

When exactly had their relationship turned like that?

He thought back on Smithers' father. He had thought he was a good worker, even a friend. But would he have invited him to his house?

Maybe under such dire circumstances, but somehow it wouldn't have been the same as this...

Whatever this was.

Definitely he would have needed to ask, to consider it a favor, maybe hint that it would make them even for that few weeks he had lived in his apartment. But _that _would have never happened with Smithers Senior in the first place.

And he knew that when this dome-related tomfoolery was over, his assistant would just return to his apartment, and their normal routine would resume.

And to his surprise he disliked the idea.

After all, it _was_ very practical to have Waylon right there at his beck and call 24/7, if he needed something middle of the night.

...

Eventually the electricity had gone out, which is why he now found himself huddling with his assistant on the attic, hopefully safe from the looting mob that had forced its way in.

The sounds had eventually died out, but it seemed both were hesitant to speak.

That was just fine with Mr. Burns.

But it was awfully cold, so it was only natural he would find himself leaning against the other body. And when the younger man wrapped his arm around him to pull him closer, that was natural as well.

* * *

><p>He was fully aware he had been dropping hints, drawing the younger man closer, giving him false hope.<p>

But when he did reject him on Valentine's day and set the hounds on him, it didn't feel nearly as satisfying as he had thought it would.

* * *

><p>As Mr. Burns sat in the table of this new club Smithers had set up, he for the first time realized something about his assistant. Smithers had… friends.<p>

As Burns sat there, looking at Smithers chatting with a young man at the bar, the old man realized he really didn't know much about his assistant's life outside of work, even that he _had_ one.

Whenever it had come up, he had always been reluctant to talk about it, and Burns had been more than fine with that.

Anger flared in him. What was Smithers hiding from him? Did he have a whole secret life he had kept from him? Did he often come to clubs like this to spend time with people of his own age? Did he have friends? Lovers?

Probably.

How dared he?

How dared Smithers betray him like this?

And now he was laughing at something the man behind the bar (Moe, Burns believed his name was) had said. Smithers had been spending a lot of time with his new business partner lately, hadn't he?

He could have done better.

Mr. Burns tried to look at Smithers objectively. He had no idea what one should look in a man, but even he could see Waylon was far more attractive than Moe. (But then again, a diseased warthog carcass would be more aesthetically appealing than the barkeep)

Smithers wasn't _that_ good looking, though.

Not that he was horribly unpleasant to look at. But his dressing sense left a lot to be wished for, and he definitely wasn't particularly muscled, which was what Burns supposed men like that looked for in a lover. Really, he wore glasses that made him look like a geek, and that haircut was terribly unflattering for his headshape…

What if he quit?

No, that would never happen. Although, Smithers had shown a bit more backbone Burns had come to expect from him, even going so far as to confront him about the testament.

Mr. Burns thought of his options. He could shut this whole establishment down, pull some strings, make them lose their license for selling alcohol, maybe.

Yes, that sounded like a good course of action. Then Smithers would have no place to go and that would certainly teach him a lesson about abandoning him.

But how would he respond to this?

Mr. Burns was no stranger to mindgames and manipulating people, and understanding the motives of others and anticipating their responses was something he was usually good at.

But what kind of a response did he _want_ to get out of Smithers?

Humiliation? Fear? Despair?

Somehow any of those didn't feel right.

"What do you think of my business, Sir?"

The thought that Smithers still was looking for his approval made him feel better, at least, and it wouldn't hurt giving him what he wanted occasionally, right?

Maybe that would even make him abandon this enterprise and realize what he should be doing.

"You have earned my respect"

There, a little lie to hook him back in.

Except, was it a lie?

He didn't much value this club and what Smithers had done with it. After all, running a small business like this was simple and something a trained monkey could do, and he hadn't even taken a look at the financial side of this, and whether they were even making a profit.

But his work at the nuclear plant, and beyond that…

Mr. Burns thought back to everything Smithers did at the plant. He was a shrewd and an intelligent man, and an invaluable employee. And someone he had to admit he was glad to have on his side. In fact, someone he was glad to have by his side _outside_ of work.

And thinking back on it, he did value his opinion on business matters. Not that he always complied with his suggestions, but he did often listen what Waylon had to say, and usually left the finer details for him to figure out.

He left the club feeling like he had come to a decision, but wasn't entirely certain what that decision was.

* * *

><p>"Smithers, take a look at these figures."<p>

As Waylon leaned in to see what his boss was pointing at, Burns, avoiding eye-contact, pulled the younger man to a kiss.

It wasn't as he had envisioned it, for one, he had always imagined Waylon as much more passive. But now that he found himself in this situation his assistant was quite enthusiastically taking part in it, and his tongue was doing some pretty interesting things indeed.

And he knew that he wasn't going to back down and claim this was merely a sign of respect, a possible course of action he had assured himself he'd have even after doing this. This had moved beyond any games or teasing.

And when doing this had occupied his mind, it had seemed like such a leap, but now that he found himself actually doing it, it all felt so natural and right he realized this was what they had been heading towards all along. And it wouldn't stop here.

But he was eager to see where it all would end up.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed it. Apart from the last bit and the few in the beginning, they are based on certain episodes and are in order. Have fun figuring out what those episodes are.<strong>


End file.
